


The Epitaph of Meaningless Destruction

by afallenangel



Series: The Marvelous Murderous Misadventures of the third Holmes, A.K.A wonderful Psychopath you [2]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: (in more ways than one), Continuation, F/F, F/M, I need help, John Watson - Freeform, Psychopath, Reader Insert, Serial Killer!Reader, Sherlock - Freeform, Still bad, assassin!reader, read this, seriously give me suggestions on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afallenangel/pseuds/afallenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of A Game For Two, you have left the loony bin with the help of Jim Moriarty. Some people aren't very forgiving, and some can't be properly controlled. This is your life after, guns, blood, glory, and all. Give 'em Hell!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Epitaph of Meaningless Destruction

CHAPTER 1:

You fell back onto your couch exhausted. This was the third day you'd gone without sleep, thanks to a particularly difficult mission. But finally it was completed. You turned the telly on as you grabbed your gun to start cleaning it and put it away. The news was on, and they were showing a story about a rich company owner who had been assassinated in his house, thanks to a sniper. You grinned and continued watching. “Also left at the scene was what we all came to know and fear very well two years ago, a spray painted sigil used by the serial killer (y/n) Holmes. Scotland Yard is left wondering if she's back, or if it’s just another copy cat killer.” Just then, your phone buzzed. One new text.   
“Nice touch, Holmes -JM”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You went out later that night, and did one of your trademark killings. You left a note again, saying “The East Wind has returned”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, you went out to get groceries. Hey, even serial killers-turned assassins had to eat. As you walked out of the store, trying to get a cab back home, you bumped into someone. A certain someone who you gladly hadn't seen in two years. You ducked your head down immediately, trying to avoid being recognized. “Oi, you're (y/n) Holmes.” You turned around slowly to face John Watson. “I told you I was sorry about kidnapping you, what more do you want? I’ve paid penance for my crimes.”   
“You've started again, haven't you? I was at the crime scene with Sherlock this morning and it was the same as two years ago, when you killed all those people. There were Forty of them, did you know? Did you even count how many people died for the sake of your “game”?” He was yelling now, and people were turning to stare. You turned and silently walked away. Calling a cab, you headed home, waving at John through the window. 

When you walked in your flat, Sherlock was sitting at your table, messing with one of your guns, the one you had used to kill the CEO, and had forgotten to put away well this morning. You closed your eyes, mentally berating yourself. “What the hell are you doing here?” You demand.   
“Why are you killing again?”   
“Who says I am?”   
“This gun matches the one used to kill Derek Gregson.”  
“Who?”   
“You know very well”   
“Actually I don't. And you need to leave.” You say, stalking over to the table and snatching your gun away. As soon as you do that, he pulls out a pistol. “Well just shoot me then” you say. He sets the gun down on the table next to him. “Just promise me you won't hurt anyone else” you nod slowly. He stands up and walks out of the flat, slamming the door behind him. You sigh and make a cup of tea. 

A buzz snaps you back to reality a few minutes later. You check your phone and see you have a new assignment.   
“221a Baker Street, Mrs.Hudson -JM”  
You toss the phone on the chair. You don't know Mrs.Hudson, but you knew your brother was quite fond of her. Maybe Moriarty wanted to annoy him. Grabbing your gun, you head out the door. You pull your hat down over your face a bit more, and bury your chin in your scarf while waiting for a cab, so as to keep people from recognizing you. The cab drops you off at Baker Street, and you climb up the back of the building you had used once before. You watched for a while, waiting. Sooner or later your target would walk out of the house, and then she would die. John and your brother walked out of the house and crossed the street, but you paid them little attention. That was your fatal mistake. A few minutes later you saw the curtain move in the apartment below.   
“Hello again sister. Did I tell you what would happen if you killed anyone else?” You jumped and quickly turned around. “But I haven't…” You reply. “I never could read you very well” he says. You reach for your gun. “Might I remind you what happened last time this happened?” Sherlock asks you, and John pulls out his gun with a sigh. “We've got to stop meeting like this..” You say to them. “Unfortunately for you, there is no police team here to help you with a rather very simple task” you jump, grab the gun, and fling yourself off the two story building. As you fall, you fire the gun at 221a, unwilling to completely fail your mission. The shot cause people to run out, shouting, allowing your not-so-graceful landing on a car to pass less noticed. Tossing your gun to the side ( you don't need to be seen running around London with a semi-automatic sniper rifle), you bolt to a side alley, and run towards your flat. Halfway there, you stop, realizing that your flat has probably been compromised. Cursing, you check to see if your pistol, extra rounds, and emergency cash are in your bag. Luckily, they are. You walk down the street, ducking into alleys whenever you see a cop car, or anyone who might recognize you. Eventually, you make it too a small hotel, not quite in the downtown area, but not in the slums either. Perfectly anonymous. You walk into the lobby, scoping out people, exit’s, and possible threats. Checking in, you try to act as nonchalant as possible while asking for a room on the first floor, and paying with cash, with no bags, and hair that looked like you jumped off a building. Totally not suspicious, you cringe to yourself. When you finally get the room, and enter, you collapse on the bed, exhausted


End file.
